


Melancholight

by Moxy_Owl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dead People, Gen, Magic, Magic-Users, Ritual Magic, Telepathy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29104746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moxy_Owl/pseuds/Moxy_Owl
Summary: Truddy and her mom enjoy participating in an annual religious ceremony, the Melancholight.This year's ceremony is lovely, but the Towers (the locations that hold the Melancholight ceremonies) are unjustly attacked on the news, online, and legislatively.The next year, Melancholight is suspended by the government. Truddy and her mom organize the community to hold the ceremony anyway. There's bloodshed. Truddy experiences the full depth of her bloodline magics, and protects the community, but at a cost.
Comments: 2





	Melancholight

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to Ao3, and if you have any tips, or suggestions for stuff I missed - please let me know.

_Candles, one for each tear, nostalgia burns our hearts._  
_Memories, one for each link, persistent common history._  
_Victuals, one for each love, feeds every passion._  
_~ chant for Melancolight ceremony._

***

“Quick, get the cakes out!” Mom always got this way around ML. She wanted perfect cakes - every single year.

  
“I’m getting them.”

  
The kitchen was a mess, more than usual. Her favorite baking show was blaring, and I realized she’d tried one of the recipes on the latest episode.

  
“They aren’t done yet!”

  
From behind the bathroom door, she said, “How do you know?”

  
“They still jiggle, and aren’t golden. I know, mom.” I slid the tray back inside and closed the oven door.

  
“Okay honey, put them back in and set another timer.”

  
As I pushed the microwave buttons for the timer. Under my breath, I said, “Already done.”

  
She was taking a long time in the bathroom. “You okay in there?”

  
There was a long pause, a flush, and a long hand washing.

  
Leaning against the counter, I turned down the British folks chatting about the damned window pane test - yes we heard the other million times you’ve kneaded bread - and waited with my arms crossed. She’d have to answer my question.

  
Popping the door open, she rushed me. Just before she hugged me, I spotted her tear filled eyes.

  
She whispered into my hair, “It’s official. I’m pregnant.”

  
Oh.

  
“Con-congratulations. Mom... that’s amazing.”

  
“I know,” she said and pulled away to look at my face. “You never liked Taffy, but I did. This is a good thing.”

  
Shaking my head, doing my best to shove my emotions down, I said, “You know - as long as you’re happy I’m happy. I’m here to help, just like you’ve always been there for me.”

“You’re the best, Truddy.”

  
I rolled my eyes, and grinned at her. “Must you give everyone nicknames?”

  
“Yes - if it means provoking grins. I’m sorry you never got along with Taffy - I mean Theodore. I...” The words caught in her throat. “I miss him.”

  
This time they were sorrowful tears. The funeral had been three months ago, today. “Let me help clean up, mom. You have to get ready. I know when to pull the cupcakes. I’ll set them up to cool, and call when they are ready for decorating.”

  
“Promise?”

  
“No one decorates better than you.”

  
She wrinkled her nose at me, and disappeared upstairs to change.

***

I hated to admit mom was right, she was always insufferable about it. Every year I appreciated Melancholight more. We come together to share, and lament - the whole community. She’d tried to get me to see it as a kid, but it didn’t stick until recently.

  
In bare feet, (supremely important to be connected to the Earth,) we headed en masse toward the Tower. Sparkles, high hairdos, and flowing robes intermingled - colors limited to greys and whites. For weeks the community would sweep the sidewalks, and weed the pathways in preparation, to show their love. To give to others. When I was younger I saw it as a bunch of chores, but it’s love.

  
It was the single ceremony where it was still legally allowed to use magics. The year the new regime won the war, they banned all magics in public, and most private ones too. Folks across the territory still held ML as if nothing had changed. Instead of fighting the war again, the regime made it legal with a big show of their own generosity. As I got older I noticed more of the tension.

  
The regime watched every member that entered a Tower. Extra checks, random tests, sometimes they even imposed additional taxes (superior they called it) when they could get away with it. Most Towers had at least a few lawyer members, willing to help fight the ridiculous red tape. We held strong, performing the ceremony year after year.

  
Chanting the sacred words, we cried and rejoiced shoulder to shoulder - all crammed on the top ring of the atrium, ten stories up, open all the way to the ground floor. One by one we lit candles, and released them into the air, to slowly descend. The Orchestrator stood on the Podium, and they controlled the candles’ descent into a pillar of white wax and flickering flame. They would hold them aloft until midnight and float them gently to the floor, creating a sea of flames.

  
We collected in groups of ten to twenty, held hands, and shared our memories for the year. A wave of pain, loss, triumph, laughter, and most of all, wisdom. Those outside our communities, that had never participated, didn’t know the deep connections this intimate sharing created. We witnessed each other at the most raw, most alive. After the first sharing was a short break, and groups would intermingle so no one shared the same members. The second sharing was usually more sweet, we’d all been softened by the first. It was effective for spreading memories and knowledge to the whole community.

  
It was a big deal to transition from the kids corral to the adult circles. Watching from the enclosed balcony, to your first proper ML - momentous and terrifying. Unforgettable. Mine was five years ago.

  
Each member chose how much sexual content to accept, without judgement. All other topics were shared equally, as it should be. Outsiders really never understood our lack of gender or orientation bias, but this sharing fosters supreme perspective. Each of us learned from others’ experiences - to hold back failure was a weakness to the whole. (It could be done but most didn’t. Lingering guilt was obvious to all.)

  
After the second sharing, we descended to the banquet hall. Each family brought food, and labeled it for any allergies or tolerance issues. Mom’s cupcakes were one of the most sought-after items - a new flavor each year to make new memories. She would always proudly say they were so good because she made them with love, and I would roll my eyes if I were in earshot.

  
This year was the first time I felt anxiety about the political danger this ceremony posed for the regime. Witnessing outsiders’ varied reactions to learning I was a Tower member, even in a place as learned as university, had reawakened the knowledge shared many times before - Tower members were not seen as we saw ourselves.

  
One of the strictest codexes of punishment was for Melancholight participants - non-members should never see the magics. Ever. Outsiders witnessing magic was grounds for being shot in the street. The news did a good job of reminding everyone of these codexes.

  
My new found respect and joy for Melancholight meant I reveled in every step, every sorrow shared, every worried glance. Was this the year it ended? The other adults had struggled with this longer than I had - we carried on.

  
We were one community, proud of our Tower. We were one of many Towers, all sharing on the same night, under the same moon.

***

“What are you watching?” Mom padded into the kitchen with a stretch and a yawn. She headed straight for the coffeemaker, as usual.

  
“Um...” My eyes wide, I couldn’t even say it outloud. My heart had lodged in my throat - pounding harder by the second.

  
She rushed to my side and read the scrolling headlines. “Fuck.”

  
We watched in horror as secret footage of an ML ceremony from the community to the north was splashed across the news, including outrageous accusations and blazing headlines.

  
Leaning against the counter, I turned to her. “This doesn’t feel real. What- Why would someone do this?”

  
The footage was lo-res, like a hidden camera from a purse as it bounced sideways at hip level. The glow of magics were clear enough and the garbled chanting made the glow stronger.

  
“They speak about our ceremony as an evil act. It’s so beautiful - why are they ruining it?” My whole body ached with these questions. My community was being attacked. We were unable to counter the outright lies. A protest had already gathered outside their Tower with horrible signs, and red-faced screaming folks gaining more cameras by the hour.

  
I couldn’t peel my gaze away. “What will the regime do?”

  
Mom pursed her lips. Everyone in the community had awareness of how brutal the war had been - how savage. Even when I was a child, mom had shared these memories with me at home, in private - to help build collective knowledge. She told me it was forbidden magics, but she still felt it was important enough to disobey the new laws. I never imagined the knowledge would be... useful to me.

  
“Are we safe?” My insides quivered. Could I go back to university? Could mom have her kid in a hospital? Implications echoed through our whole lives and I slapped the countertop, making my hand hurt too.

  
Mom wrapped her arms around me, and we rocked back and forth - harkening back to when I was little and had a nightmare - harkening back to when she was little, and had a nightmare.

  
It comforted us both. We had each other.

***

The year passed with daily inspections for all ML participants across the territories. Tower members had been labeled oathbreakers in the first few months, and it stuck. We were shunned, ostracized by outsiders. Schools were shut down to create the man-power, the buildings were filled with listening posts and banks of monitors. So many cameras trained on us. Harassment, occasional brawls, and lawsuit after lawsuit fed the courts and the news cycles.

  
Mom was allowed to have her child, little Betha, but she had to find a doula willing to come to our home - she had been barred from hospitals. The news said hospitals were for those that earned the privilege - not oathbreakers. The police backed up the hospitals’ choice, as had the courts so far.

  
Our communities had alternative ways of communication, hidden ways. Each Tower had their own symbols, their own ways of voting, their own plans for how to deal with governments if it came to this. These systems had been honed and fostered over centuries, adapted against the latest regime.

  
This secret knowledge was a gauge for a young person. Were they ready to step into the Adult Circles - could they handle the secrets and keep them safe?

  
The source of the leaked footage passed through our communities like wildfire. A regime wife was friends with a ML member and had gifted her an expensive handbag for her birthday. It was planned months in advance. The member might not have taken the handbag to the ceremony and the camera was only activated once. A single purpose. But mom believed the regime probably had more than one of these sneaky plans in place, this was simply the first to succeed.

  
No one blamed the member. She’d been protected by another Tower, not her own, to avoid the death threats. Outsiders demonized her for not only practicing magics, but betraying her community. She became a face for the oathbreakers.

  
One lawsuit in particular traveled up the courts - the country had never been so interested in legal proceedings. It challenged that denying the Melancholight Ceremony across the whole territory - the regime broke its own law. So far it had won in the lower courts and the regime kept appealing.

  
The higher courts were seen as the last bastion of hope - one last vestige of order holding the regime responsible to the letter of the law. No one knew if they would hear the case, or how they would rule if they did hear it. No one knew when they would make the decision to hear it... before or after the all-important date?

  
Our Tower didn’t care. We voted to hold the ML ceremony with or without permission. It was even more important now, in the face of the ugliness. A month away, and we pretended heartache. Faking was easy, considering how much we’d lost and could still lose. All the while our concealed plans moved forward as usual.

  
Mom snuck some extra magics while the Monitors weren't looking, an increasingly difficult and dangerous act - to send messages to the Towers adjacent to us. Two had replied by the next day. They stood strong, and planned to hold the ceremonies too.

***

A week before the ceremony, mom and I baked small batches. It passed the time and it was something we did together. Mom froze at the kitchen counter, mixing spoon in hand. Her eyes glowed for a moment before she pretended to cough and bend over to hide her eyes from the camera in the corner. That had been a powerful message.

  
I moved as if everything were normal, and gave mom a glass of water. Her eyes streamed tears, and she gulped the water. With our own code she shared.

  
[The community to the west had finally answered - they would go ahead with the ceremony. Also, they gifted us the knowledge of barrier magics.]

  
I understood the significance. War magics were hidden, sacred to each Tower. Even the adult circles didn’t have access, only selected people who were reaffirmed every year, Holders. It meant they believed it would come to war with the regime. It proved they thought the Towers were more important to protect than to keep defensive magics to themselves. Bold.

  
Mom wasted no time. She took her weekly walk and left signals all over the neighborhood to find a way to talk to her, urgently. Suddenly everyone needed to know the best recipes of her cupcakes from past ceremonies so they could make them at home - since no one was able to do the ceremony, obviously. She spent until the wee hours carefully passing on what had been shared.

  
Everyone agreed - she should pass the knowledge onto other Towers.

  
I was on pins and needles - if the regime monitors were smart, they would notice something was up. We understood the risks, and were willing to take them - but I didn’t want to get caught either. I tried not to think what it might look like on the news, our house the backdrop, our sidewalk stained.

  
Mom found ways to send more messages. The two closest Towers sent back their own magic rituals; one for blurring stone, and the other for making the ground explode from non-members touch. She passed these magics back to the barrier magics Tower.  
In our code I said, [Our hidden magics are communication based, aren’t they?] But for the camera’s benefit, I said, “You need to rest, mom. Worrying yourself to death won’t fix anything.”

  
She answered, [Yes, lovely bonbon. I sent them ways to communicate but no one else has manifested the ultimate communication power.] “I know sweetheart, you’re right. I need to rest.”

  
What she didn’t have to say, because it was buried in the knowledge shared my whole life - our family could manifest the ultimate communication - even though I didn’t know what that meant.

***

Time seemed to be slow and fast all at once. An hour seemed to take a whole day but before we knew it - it was 24 hours before Melancholight.

  
The news was at a fever pitch. Groups of suits gathered for moderated debates, and they descended into screaming matches within 30 seconds. The high courts were silent - unable or unwilling to hear the case. Protests had grown, but now there were also anti-protests. The news ate it up, splashing it all by the minute, interrupting their own broadcasts for breaking news.

  
Three in the afternoon, around the normal time when folks would get ready for the ceremony - the whole neighborhood filled with explosions from the direction of our Tower.

  
I rushed outside as mom called me to stay with her. But I had to see, to know.

  
More explosions rocked the pavement, making the trees vibrate. I could hear screams now, coming from our Tower - which was still standing, thank Goddess. Black smoke seemed to be gathered in tiny clouds, an ominous sight above the neighborhood trees.

  
Armed soldiers dressed head to toe in black surrounded our beloved Tower. One by one, as they stepped onto the grounds, magical traps triggered - all of what they’d been exploded.

  
No.

  
Something snapped in my chest, like glass had been holding back a river and I couldn’t put back all the water - only instead of water, magic poured out of me.

  
Not even knowing what I was doing, I connected mind to mind with mom, then with our closest members in the neighborhood, then with every member of our Tower - inactive members or those in hiding.

  
Stray thoughts mingled and converged together: What have they done? Can we survive this? Why do they hate us? What can we do against this? It’s hopeless. We will overcome, as we’ve always done.

  
Each mind added to the power, and experienced shock. But we remembered together, this power was used long ago. Experiencing it woke up the memories - all of it a blur of need and anger, past and present. Finally collective acceptance.

  
We were one.

  
We saw all, felt all, over a thousand brains worked as one.

  
The regime had no chance against a Coterie - many of us had firearms and military training. Many of us had self defense, including martial arts training. Many of us practiced the forbidden magics, both low and high level magics. In this moment we all shared the knowledge.

  
It was thrilling and terrifying - I was the nucleus. Someone grabbed my arm and supported me. I sensed it was mom because even though I could see everything, my own body was blind. A detached part of my consciousness witnessed mom hold my waist, and slowly helped me take steps down the middle of the street. If she could have, she would have picked me up, but she held Betha in her other arm.

  
We converged on our Tower. We didn’t have to take attendance to know when the last member arrived, we all knew. Once inside we reinforced the magics - all of us working in unison. The barrier magics were hardened, the traps on the ground strengthened, the lines of communication cleared. Next we broadcast to all the Towers within a thousand miles - instructions, hopes, and last messages.

  
In a flash, every fear, every hidden triumph, every fuck you directed at the regime was shared - it was not the usual sharing - it was focused on the dire situation. Some of the other Towers shared with us, a collective across miles. Our hearts ached together, blending communities, blending memories, blending together more than ever before.

  
As twilight faded to true night, we heard distant explosions again. Focusing - we shifted outside. The regime soldiers attempted to cancel our magics. Uniformed officers fumbled words from texts they had obviously never read out loud, and paid the ultimate cost of untrained magic use - dying as they disarmed the magic. But a few were able to withstand the forces and opened the way for gun-wielding soldiers to rush forward.

  
Mom whispered in my ear, “Hypocrites.”

  
Righteous fury started a fire in our collective minds, and I was the origin spark. Pushing the Coterie into the world - I hooked into the internet. Pulling from the Tower, from the sacred earth, from the air - I pushed us all to show the world what the regime did.

  
In unison our voice raised, “They use magics against us!”

  
We protected ourselves in our sacred space and they attacked over and over. The guns didn’t penetrate the magical barriers - but it would have been different without the magics from the other Towers.

  
A child in our group cried out, and I stopped the burst of magic - let the internet connection go. How had I even done that? Lessened my grip on the group. A pit in my stomach warned me this magic I wielded could wield me too.

  
With gritted teeth, I said, “I need five volunteers to help me maintain our defenses. Otherwise we need to do our normal ceremony. We might not... get another chance.”

  
I signaled to mom [I only need two or three members, but maybe I pushed too hard? Be ready to take over for me.] I should feel weak, and I should rest, but there was no time for any of that. Borrowing from the future, I continued to hold the magics at attention.

  
As the connection wore on, I got lost. Which leg was mine? Which was my friend and which was my lover and which was my mother? Whose child was this holding my hand? Mine? I was all, yet somehow they were all themselves. I sensed it. Only I was getting lost.

  
Watching from behind the wall of everyone - not as myself - the candles got lit. Each one was so profound it filled me with wonder. The chanting was as beautiful a sound as I’d ever heard, each voice a fountain of strength and power making us better. Each flawed note was made beautiful by the existence of the moment. We traveled downstairs, each step jarring and yet we moved as one. It was supremely beautiful and dreadful from this perspective. It would come to an end at some point.

  
Mom’s voice was traveling through more than one set of ears, surrounding me. “Gertrude, you need to let everyone go. We are safe. Truddy? Bonbon?”

  
My whole body tensed. [No. They want us dead. I can’t let go.]

  
“Honey, listen to the news.” Mom turned up a radio for the group. Neighboring countries had attacked the regime capital after they saw our broadcast. Stories of deaths from other Towers poured in, those without our level of protective magics.

  
But shock filled me anew and images of the devastation... our grounds... covered in body parts. Without knowing what happened, I walked between the familiar trees, finding the paths difficult to follow from the viscera tainting everything with blood. Smoke rose, and sticky red coated the ground - each step a disgusting discovery. Bodies, unrecognizable bits. Rage filled my heart as I tried to count the dead.

  
“Come back, Gertrude.” She whispered in my ear, but this time the fear in her voice made me shudder.

  
Someone shook my body. “Come back to us Truddy. You saved us, come back!” They started chanting. Their hearts called to me. They used their own powers to reach me.

  
Pulling myself inward, shrinking down into the Tower, dwindled down into the group, narrowed down into my own limbs. I stuffed it all back inside, taking great gulps of air as I took great gulps of power back into the dark corners of my mind. The glass case grew back in place - shards piercing my heart - I released the hold on everyone. In the same moment I shrieked at how wrong it felt. I was meant to be all - we were meant to be together - and this was a desolate existence. Taking great lungfills - I shrieked out the pain.

  
Alone in this tiny sac of skin.

***

Sitting outside the Tower, my tiny Betha bounced on my knee as we took our afternoon sun. Her frilly dress was almost too small already.

  
“How is Truddy doing?” Aunt Diane asked after my daughter at least once a day.

  
“Same. She laments... all of it.” I wasn’t sure what to say. It had been two weeks, and Truddy couldn’t leave the Tower without shrieking. She still had bouts of madness. If I lied, it would be obvious the moment anyone saw her - she shared constantly now, mind to mind. She couldn’t turn it off. Yet.

  
“Can we help?” Aunt Diane said, sitting next to me. Her lemon colored slacks matched her hair. She folded her manicured hands together on her lap. This was a new offer.

  
“It’s nice of you. Actually, try to find someone that can get the internet to work in the Tower. She could see lectures, and watch kittens being cute. Distraction would be good. She can’t read, too much - well.” I paused trying to put it into words. “Since she connected us to the internet... we haven’t been able to get a normal connection into the Tower.”

  
“Listen, we will do everything we can for her. We all know the price your family in particular has paid in the past. We all revere and love her. She is valued. She is loved.”

  
I believed her, but knew it was a distant love. “But what I’m sensing is no one wants to visit her.” This bench was the closest anyone would go to the Tower. Truddy hungered for connection, and leapt into anyone’s mind if they got close enough. I didn’t mind, but I was her mom.

  
Diane looked down the street, avoiding my eye.

  
“Maybe she’ll be okay in a few months. I’m going to call all the young people I know to work on getting the internet into the Tower.” She stood, and walked down the street with her platform shoes clapping away on the concrete. Betha clapped her chubby little hands, and gurgled.

***

Five members from every Tower had arrived in unison, asking, then begging to be allowed to come into our circle and meet me - share specifically with me. As our territories descended into chaos, the Towers stood strong - beacons of normalcy. Now my home Tower was spoken about in reverent tones - dreamed of by other Towers. They’d renamed this Tower: Central.

  
Mom stood before me, allowing a clear connection. She knew I didn’t really like using my voice anymore, too slow, too flat. [They want to come into our circle, but we aren’t sure they should.]

  
[Whatever the community wants. I’d pay the price again to save us.] It took all my focus not to jump into everyone’s mind. It was the natural order to be together, a huge boon, and difficult to resist. My teeth ground together. [This sucks.]

  
[I know.] Mom turned and headed back out on the grounds of the Tower, my new home and prison.

  
I was still Gertrude, but also... I was never going to be Gertrude again. The pit in my stomach, in my heart, would never be filled. The magnificent part of existence was held behind a glass barrier. I doubted I would know contentment again. I would have to resist tapping into it for the rest of my life.

  
One glimmer of hope, the Melancolight ceremony crept closer again. Maybe the gentle sharing would heal some of my wounds. Distant memories whispered that each ML ceremony would ease the pain, bring me back to human-sized, release the power a little more. But my limbs still hummed, and my consciousness still reached outward to everyone who came into range. They were as needed as air, but I had to suffocate every waking moment.

  
Dreaming over the last ten months, a side effect of the power, I’d discovered my family originated the Melancolight ceremony, a gentle form of our natural magics. And more than that - I knew it was not the most destructive magic, there were others. This one was the lowest of the BIG magics, with a small personal price - one partial life: I couldn’t be safe again for a decade, probably more. The other powers required higher prices, some of them much higher. I told no one of them.

  
To my surprise, I knew how to hide secrets from the ML ceremony, without guilt or signs there were hidden thoughts. Once upon a time, I thought it impossible and daft to hide things. But now I understood the necessity.

  
The one thing I planned to share: I missed my innocence. It was nearly the same as my ignorance, but that might get people proding. Innocence was true enough. The memory of each person that died lingered with the sharing, across all the lands we had shared with. There was a lot to process.

  
Eventually, maybe being Gertrude would be enough again.

  
Just not today.


End file.
